


Knight Takes Rook, But Look

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [35]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Feelings, M/M, Rank Disparity, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton provides distraction and Washington is miserable anyway.





	Knight Takes Rook, But Look

“Knight to king’s rook.” The smooth baritone of Washington’s voice carries low through the small room. Hamilton sees his general’s mouth move, because he’s been watching the man pace and ponder options—which means he sees the way sound and movement are only the slightest bit out of sync with each other.

It’s a dramatic improvement from the first moment Hamilton stormed through sickbay to find Washington in this quarantine room. Stark contrast to the lengthy and unsettling delay that has been gradually lessening over the course of a week.

 _An entire week_ Washington has been behind that forcefield, safe but out of reach. And Peggy insists it will be at least another thirty-six hours before she can risk dropping the containment field and allowing Washington back amid the normal flow of time. Hamilton has not argued with her, despite his own frantic impatience to have Washington where he can touch him. Or even better, where Hamilton can speak his mind with true candor, and receive honest answers.

More than once he has idly considered deactivating the room’s observation equipment for a few minutes’ privacy—but he would only earn Peggy’s ire and get himself ejected from sickbay, and so he has grudgingly refrained.

Now, glancing down at the chessboard that sits on the floor as close as possible to the forcefield, he picks up Washington’s knight as directed. “You sure you want to do that?” he teases. “It will leave your queen unguarded.”

“Knight to king’s rook,” Washington repeats in a tone more somber than the situation—a chess game in which one party sits cross-legged on the floor and the other paces ceaselessly—calls for.

“Hmm.” Hamilton sets the knight down, knocking over his own rook and doing his best not to look smug. The rook is a worthy sacrifice toward his slowly solidifying strategy. He can see Washington’s next several moves in his mind—knows what his general _intends_ to accomplish with this feint—and unless Hamilton has severely misgauged, he will end the game within seven moves.

He considers this an especially impressive feat considering that Washington has not stopped pacing the whole time Hamilton has been here today. The show of restless energy is cruel on two fronts: first, for the simple fact that Washington looks so damn good, with his uniform jacket gone and the thin gray material of his shirt straining across muscular chest and arms; second, because Hamilton is here and he cannot _help_. He can offer his company and conversation, but he can’t render the general’s confinement any less complete.

Washington didn’t pace this relentlessly yesterday. Or the day before. Or during any of their other daily visits, because of course Hamilton has made no effort to stay away. He doesn’t care how it looks; his general needs him.

But his general is also storming endlessly back and forth, utilizing every scrap of space available to him.

Watching without being able to touch or console is torture, and Hamilton finds himself wondering if this is atonement for wrongs he committed in a previous life. With every moment his general is trapped, he finds the theory more credible.

Hamilton moves his only remaining bishop without another word. Moves Washington’s piece when the thoughtful command comes in answer. Back and forth. Seven moves.

“Checkmate,” Hamilton says as he positions his knight, cornering the king at the opposite end of the board.

Hamilton glances up and finds Washington standing directly before him, momentarily motionless. Eyebrows so high his forehead wrinkles, one corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“So it is,” Washington says softly, and the twitch resolves into a smile.

Hamilton grins. “Rematch?”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Sacrifice, Atone, Stark


End file.
